


Little Talks

by Saldemar



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: During War, Failed Relationships, Gen, Sad, Transformers - Freeform, bad choices, bonding (emotionally. this is sfw), involving disappointing leaders on both sides of the war, losing faith in a leader, my own personal au, political junk kinda, tensions rising, the world isn't fair, thinking of the past, transformers fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:16:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9657119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saldemar/pseuds/Saldemar
Summary: “Elita?”The femme turned, and rubbed the sleep out of her optics.“Yes, Mirage ?” She balanced her chin atop her servos, and patiently waited for him to speak.He swallowed, and took a deep breath.“Do you...still support Optimus?”Her eyes, which had been warm and golden, sharpened, and flicked down.“Can you keep a secret?” She asked.A nod.“No. I don’t.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I've posted in over two years, apologies if it isn't too...up to par with other fics here on A03. :/ Anyway I hope you enjoy, this was a nice project to work on

“Elita?”

The femme turned, and rubbed the sleep out of her optics. 

“Yes, Mirage ?” She balanced her chin atop her servos, and patiently waited for him to speak.

He swallowed, and took a deep breath.

“Do you...still support Optimus?”

Her eyes, which had been warm and golden, sharpened, and flicked down.

“Can you keep a secret?” She asked.

A nod.

“No. I don’t.” She straightened herself, and sighed, tapping her stylus against the desk. Ting, ting, ting.

“What about you?” 

Mirage felt a tight knot form in his throat. He glanced back to the open door, and saw a mech from Squadron A-1 pass by. For a second, Mirage flickered, invisible.

Elita gestured for him to shut the door, and he did so in quick, jerky movements.

“Speak your mind,” she said. “Secrets are safe with me.” 

Mirage frowned, and sucked on his bottom lip.

Elita was patient. 

“Want energon?” She reached below her desk, and pulled out a small cube. A snack. She set it on the corner of the desk, and stood. She walked to her berth, where she plopped down, crisscross. She still had her stylus, she toyed with it with a single servo, sliding it back and forth between digit to digit. Mirage took the hint, and sat himself down in the now free chair.

“He...he scares me,” he admitted. “And he hates us.”

Elita sighed. 

“Not you. He doesn’t hate you. He hates me. Me and…he we shall not name.”

“Megatron.”

Elita paused. Then she raised her closed servo and held out one digit. Using her other servo, she pretended to scrape something off her digit, towards him.

Shame on you.

“Elita...why does he hate you so much?”

Silence. Elita stopped the gesture, and leaned against the wall. Mirage could see her optics go dull. She began tapping the stylus.

Ting. Ting. Ting.

“I was Megatrons partner, once upon a time.”

Mirage’s mouth formed an “o.”

Partner. The term was applicable in many different ways. From work to domestic life. Whatever “domestic” was considered these days.

 

Elita. With Megatron.

“Before everything went bad, he was a good person. I swear it,” she said. “But now nothing can justify what he’s done.”

They fell into a silence, only broken by the sounds of mechs walking in the hall.

“Elita...why didn’t you stay with him?”

She shrugged. “Couldn’t.”

Ting, ting, ting, ting, ting-

Silence.

“I couldn’t stay with him because he didn’t want to stay with me.” She sighed. “I’m glad it fell apart. Kept me from being dragged deeper into that disaster.” A ding. Elita glanced at her datapad, which glowed a faint blue. It sat in the corner of her desk. “Mind checking that?”

“Yes ma’am.” He lifted it, and read the tiny script below the time. “It’s Prowl. He wants you to train Chromia from here on out.”  
Elita felt a bitter bile rise in her throat. Chromia. That glitchy little queen from Iacon, raised with money, blinded by privilege. Previous to the war being announced, she was always seen with prim detailings, and fancy decals and polished armor. And she always spoke like she was so superior.   
It made Elita want to kill herself.  
“Go easy on her, alright?” Mirage said, setting the datapad facedown.   
“Naw,” Elita replied. “Can’t. Mirage, if we weren’t in the middle of a war, then maybe I’d go a bit easier on Chromia. But at this point we’re all working on borrowed time, and I need to transform that femme fast as hell.”

“She’s never fought a day in her life.”

“Exactly,” Elita said, slipping down into a sleeping position. “That privilege leaves her with a disadvantage here. Mentally? Intelligent, probably one of the most powerful femmes here. Physically?” Elita shook her head. “She’s a sparkling right now. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, you and I, we were raised to fight, we had to do it to survive. Chromia’s been coddled and protected her entire life, so she’s definitely gonna have to put herself to work asap. I’m not going to put her through hell just because. I’m going to put her through hell so she can survive what’s happening around her.” 

“Optimus and I are currently the only ones capable of handling Megatron. Prowl is a sniper, and is there as back up, and to provide tactical assistance. He’s grand, but no match for Megatron. Chromia is a strategist, valuable, but useless if she’s not there, in the thick of it directing a plan alongside Optimus and I. If she’s going to be next for Prowl or Optimus’ position, she needs to know how to fight at the very least.”

A ding. 

 

The datapad. Mirage glanced at it and reviewed the tiny line of text. “He says nevermind. And has some choice words on your behavior with her.”

“She rubs me the wrong way in every possible situation. I’m sorry if I’m being glitchy for showing my annoyance all the time.”

“We all know you aren’t sorry Elita, don’t worry.”

Elita huffed. 

“Bonne nuit, Mirage. Go.”

“Si, si…” He stood, and gave a curt bow.

“No need for such formalities,” she stated, for the billionth time. 

“That’s what makes them so much more special though,” Mirage said, leaning against the door. He felt his face warm up just a bit. 

“Sure, sure,” Elita said with a slow roll of her optics. “Of course. Bonne nuit Mirage. See ya in the morning for training.”

“Bonne nuit Elita,” he replied, disappearing. The door slid open, then shut itself.  
-

Once again, as always, Elita was alone.


End file.
